


Hooked

by SweetSirius



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Best not to think about it too much, Confessions, Create your own context, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Just about the feels, Smut, no plot to speak of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-01-21 06:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21295145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSirius/pseuds/SweetSirius
Summary: "His head wound wasn’t even remotely near the top of his list of things to worry about. Even the cable ties cutting into his wrists weren’t the most pressing issue. The fact that he was imprisoned in some delinquent’s shipping container was on the backburner right now. No, his biggest issue right this minute was that Olivia Benson was tied to the same hook, her face about four inches from his."A bit of contrivance to get these two in close proximity.
Relationships: Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson, Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 129





	1. Of details and denialism

**Author's Note:**

> This is the vaguest thing I've written, based on a moment I imagined and needed to get down on paper. It's fairly unpolished, but I'm hoping it translates ok. 
> 
> I really do apologise for the title.

She was inspecting his head wound. “There’s a fair bit of blood, but It doesn’t look too bad … does it hurt?”

He shook his head, which immediately caused a dull throbbing, but it wasn’t even remotely near the top of his list of things to worry about. Even the cable ties cutting into his wrists were among the least of his problems. Sure, they were going to leave a mark, and he’d definitely prefer to be out of them, but they weren’t the most pressing issue. Nor was the fact that his shoulders ached like hell from his arms being forced into this angle, pinned together at the hook above his head. Even the fact that he was imprisoned in some delinquent’s shipping container was on the backburner right now, as the men who had taken him had left the room some time ago in a panic, intimating plans never to return.

No, his biggest issue _right this minute _was that Olivia Benson was tied to the same hook, her face about four inches from his.

It wasn’t what you’d call the most _important_ problem, no. The difference between the most _important_ problem and the most _pressing_ one was subtle, but it was a subtlety Rafael enjoyed. Usually.

Denialism, on the other hand, was about filling your mind with needless details in order to avoid thinking about things that you’d rather not think about.

The hook was attached to a pulley, high enough so that while they weren’t exactly balancing on tiptoes, they were neither of them quite sure of their bare footing on the flatbed. Rafael had been trying to lean his body outwards, to keep from bumping into her, and noticed her doing the same – a distant part of his brain was amused at this attempt at politeness, even in such circumstances, even though it put more strain on their already aching arms. It was a fairly futile gesture anyway, but at least it meant they weren’t bumping noses every time they moved their heads.

“I’m so sorry I got you into this,” he said, again.

“Are you kidding? There’s no way you could have known–”

“Maybe if we tried screaming again …” The suggestion was half-hearted - his ears were still ringing.

“It’s no use, we’re way out of reach of houses. Our best bet is to stay calm–”

“Olivia, for the love of God, stop telling me to–”

“_Stay calm_, and wait for the squad. Trust me, they’ll be here.”

“Oh I’d _love_ to know where your confidence comes from,” he snapped.

“It’ll be ok, Rafa,” she said soothingly. “Breathe.”

He took a deep breath to try to match her composure. “Ok … I just–”

“Maybe more breathing, less talking.” He caught her eye – she was teasing him to calm him down. It was working.

“You handling me, Lieutenant?” he asked with what could almost be considered a smirk.

She tilted her head and smiled. “A little,” she said. “Also, about a month ago I had trackers installed on all the squad’s cell phones, and I shoved mine between the seats of the car.”

He actually laughed, which was nothing short of a miracle. Exhaling loudly, he looked down, shaking his head. “Well, that’ll do it.”

“It’ll be ok,” she said again, and this time he didn’t protest. Instead he raised his head, looked her in the eye and nodded.

So now there was just the present to worry about.

_Great_. 

“Trust me, Rafa, I’ve been in plenty of situations worse than this. Just keep calm.”

He frowned. “Why do you keep saying that?” He thought he’d been doing a better job of keeping it together.

“Because your pulse is all over the place,” she said simply.

He blinked at her for a bit before it dawned on him. He arched his head back to look up at where their hands were bound: sure enough, her thumb was resting on his wrist.

“I didn’t even feel it,” he murmured, half to himself. He brought his head back level, wincing at the ache the movement brought to his shoulders, and looked at her with one raised eyebrow. “You’re sneakier than you look.”

“A lot of people have had that realisation,” she smirked.

“Yeah? And why is it you keep finding yourself in these _situations_, as you call them?”

“Because,” she said, looking at him seriously. “I’m a very, _very_ bad cop.”

He laughed, which was the desired effect, and she grinned at him.

“You know, despite your vast experience with captivity, you seem awfully upbeat.”

“Trust me, these are not criminal geniuses. This whole thing got improvised once they realised I was a cop. If I’d had my gun …”

“Don’t,” he said, fixing her with a look. Meeting his eyes in acquiescence, she nodded.

“Ok. Right now I’d say the squad is interrogating them, and I give those clowns about five minutes in front of Fin.”

“That much?” he offered. But he appreciated her meaning – the most they could expect was an uncomfortable hour or two, with a dash of humiliation.

She shivered. “I wish they’d let us keep our coats.”

Yes, that was a head-scratcher. Their captors had divested them of their coats, jackets, shoes and socks. Why? He could only assume it was to aid them in freezing to death. In fact, Rafael had blinked awake to find himself with neither coat nor jacket. He took a moment to be annoyed at losing a good suit.

“I guess it could be worse,” he said absently. “They could have left us here in our underwear.”

There was a mortifying second or two as he realised he’d said it out loud. Their eyes met, and the horror on his face must have been a sight, because she burst out laughing. He was so relieved that he forgot about the pain in his shoulders for a whole five seconds.

“Could you headbutt me into unconsciousness, do you think?” he groaned, and she threw her head back in another burst of laughter. The pleasure of making her laugh disappeared as the sight of her bare throat sparked an almost uncontrollable and _completely_ inappropriate urge to run his tongue along the skin below her jawline. He swallowed hard and tried to focus. Maybe the blow to his temple had been harder than he’d thought.

“I needed that,” she admitted, although he could see her arms flexing against the discomfort that even this movement must have caused her.

He smiled in spite of himself. “Happy to help.”

His arms were tiring too, his shoulders straining in their sockets. As the exhaustion got worse his posture had slackened, and so too the distance between them began to diminish. At this point their faces were perhaps two inches apart. He knew this because he was concentrating hard on calculating the distance, all in the service of denial.

He saw her wince, noticed her arm twitch.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, just …” she hissed through clenched teeth. He looked up at their hands and saw that the hook had twisted – her wrists were turned around, the ties pinching at her skin.

“Here,” he said, and went up on tiptoe to try to swivel the hook back around. He bit his lip, concentrating on the task, and _definitely_ _not_ on the fact that the length of his body was now pressing against hers. After a second or two he’d done it, and he heard her let out a short sigh of relief. It was short-lived, though, because when he lowered himself back down and his feet skidded on the flatbed, sending him straight into her.

They each let out an _oof_ as they collided, noses bumping.

“_Jesus_, sorry.” He could feel the back of his neck reddening as he scrabbled in vain to gain purchase with his feet.

“No, it’s ok.” She was looking up, ostensibly (he thought) to check her wrists. “It feels better now.”

The warmth was spreading around to his cheeks. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that she was blushing, too. He tried to bend his arms to give them space again, but his poor tired muscles were beyond this kind of strain. He cursed whatever evolutionary process had resulted in the male human body.

But for whatever reason she was still looking at him. Try as he might to distract himself, there she was. She was always just … _there_. Demanding, reasoning, cajoling, laughing, supporting and just … there. In the rare moments he'd tried to create a bit of distance between them, she had ignored all of his safeguards and there he was again, powerless to resist.

Unfortunately, a lot of this inner thinking was manifesting on his face. And looking into her warm brown eyes he felt that pull again, that invisible force pulling his heart towards hers, threatening to drown out any competing logic. That, he supposed later, was why he’d let his gaze drop to her lips.

_What a strange moment_, he thought absently, _to want to kiss someone_.

A mere second or two later his brain must have switched back on: his eyes widened and flew back to hers. They were far too close together for her to have missed it, and too close for him to miss her registering it. Panicking, he looked away, feeling his whole body tense as he fought to look nonchalant.

He had never wished so hard that the ground would swallow him up. He cursed himself, and their kidnappers, and her, and anyone else he could think of.

“Rafa?”

She was _still_ looking at him. He looked for anger in her eyes, for pity, but found neither. He wondered foggily what she would see in _his_ eyes. Guilt? Contrition? Shame?

Desire?

He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“Wh … what?” It came out almost as a whisper – he hadn’t meant to, but she was so _close_, taking up all his field of vision, and anything else felt like shouting.

“Your pulse is racing again.”

_God damn it_, he chided himself. _If only you weren’t such a – _

_Hang on._

_Hang the fuck **on**._

Looking back, he would never figure out where he got the courage to say what he did next, in an even voice out of step with his thudding heart.

“So is yours.”

He watched her expression flicker, and slowly she raised her head to look up at their hands, where the pad of his thumb was resting against her pulse point. She swallowed, and lowered her head to look at him once more. He searched her eyes, burning with the need for clarity. Her expressions had always been so easy to read, and sometimes he had felt them exchanging whole conversations just in looks. But this … he wanted to be sure about this.

_Holy fuck_, he thought, his mouth going dry. _I’m right, aren’t I?_

She opened and closed her mouth, but, slowly, he saw in her expression a note of admission. He stared at her for an endless moment.

He wondered if she could still feel his pulse.

He swallowed hard. “I thought … I was the only one.” It could have meant anything, except it didn’t.

Mutely, she shook her head. He could feel her breath on his lips as she exhaled slowly. As if she couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, she dropped her eyes. He shifted, frustrated beyond measure at not being able to reach out to her.

They were so close, so close …

“_Olivia_,” he whispered, and he felt – actually _felt_ – the sharp intake of her breath. Something tugged at his heart again, and almost without thinking, he tilted his face forward so that his nose brushed along hers. The touch – so soft it was barely there – rushed through his body like an electric shock.

Her eyes had closed, and as though he were dreaming he watched her lips form his name: “Rafa …”

The air around him felt warm, heavy, and his own eyes slipped shut. He felt her lift her head and reciprocate his gesture, brushing her nose along his cheek. He wondered if he had already passed out.

“This … this is insane,” she whispered.

Everything felt far away, even his brain, which was no longer completely in charge of his mouth. “_This_ this? Or this – we’re chained in a shipping container – this?”

He heard the short exhalation that meant she was laughing. “Maybe … both?”

He nodded foggily, feeling himself leaning towards her, unable to stop himself from seeking contact. He ghosted the edge of his lips over her cheek, drifting down to the corner of her lips. Somewhere beyond the thudding in his ears he heard her murmur, under her breath: “Oh my god …”

There was that electric shock again.

“Definitely both,” he whispered, not even caring whether it made sense. The rest of the world had ceased to exist, and with it the complexities of language. There was just the two of them, here. And he had … almost … told her, and she had … sort of …

This time it was her lips that brushed his skin, and he felt dizzy as the power of speech left him. He’d never felt anything like it. That pull between his heart and hers was in charge now, and he was prepared to stop fighting.

Almost.

Because the rest of the world _was_ out there, and they were tied up in a container, and tomorrow, with any luck, they would be back in the real world.

“Liv,” he murmured, his eyes still closed, his breath still mingling with hers, “we have to …” _Stop? Do this more often? Get out of here so I can kiss you properly?_

“I know.”

“It’s just that–”

“We’re trapped in a shipping container?”

_God, you’re amazing_, he thought, and hoped he hadn’t said it aloud.

“Believe me,” he whispered, “if we weren’t–”

Something smashed against the container doors with an eardrum-shattering clang, and instinctively he jerked his head back and turned away. He felt as though he had been doused in ice water, and as he struggled to catch his breath he heard her calling back to the rescue party.

“We’re in here!”

He could hear voices all around them now as the cops descended. He kept his face turned away, hidden behind her, until he was sure he had it back under control. The flush along the back of his neck was beyond his control, but he hoped they’d put it down to his present position.

“Don’t worry, counsellor,” he heard Carisi say as someone worked to free their hands. “We’ll have you out of this in a jiff.”

He damn near drew blood biting back a reply.

***


	2. Of hesitations and things not said

The hospital was a blur of questions and tests, and she hadn’t even glimpsed Rafael, although she’d made Fin find out news about his condition: copious bruising, no internal injuries, with his head wound requiring only a few stitches and monitoring for concussion. After that she was finishing her statement and the next thing she knew she was being pushed into a cab with orders from on high to take the rest of the week off. It was only Thursday, but maybe they knew she wouldn’t have accepted any longer.

And then she was home, and Noah was falling asleep in her arms on the couch, and with the lack of distraction her mind returned to the shipping container. In fact the next time she looked up she saw almost an hour and a half had passed in nothing else but thought.

She carried her son into his bedroom and tucked him in, looked down into his peaceful face and couldn’t help smiling. Still thinking though. Then she left the room, closed the door behind her, and picked up her phone.

***

Rafael wanted a drink.

It seemed inhumane, really, to deny him this simple comfort, but the doctor had warned him against alcohol when dealing with concussion, and so, grudgingly, he conceded.

It was difficult though. Scotch, especially the kind he had sitting in his kitchen, had a way of smoothing out the jagged edges, and copious amounts might have stopped him from cringing with mortification whenever he thought back to his actions in the shipping container. Much of the memory was fuzzy, but some bits stood out in bold, unflinching colour.

Jesus, he’d almost kissed her.

_And she had almost_ …

Hadn't she? He couldn’t get a clear enough picture in his head. He screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and growled into the quiet of his apartment. Everything had felt slightly unreal, and now that he was sitting here, Not Drinking, he was filled with confusion, and embarrassment, and oh, _so_ much doubt.

_What_ had he been _thinking_?

He supposed he could have blamed it on the head injury, but that didn’t quite stand up to questioning. He went over it and over it, recalling the look on her face, and try as he might he couldn’t tell himself that he’d read it entirely wrongly. On the other hand, of course, he hadn’t heard from her, hadn’t seen her since they’d been hustled into separate ambulances. He remembered that ride to the hospital, trying to focus on Fin’s questions, his mouth somehow answering while his mind kept returning to Olivia.

It was doing that a lot, lately. He remembered thinking he’d have to do something about it, and groaned again when he realised that _that_ particular cat had made quick work of the bag and was currently wreaking havoc on his carefully maintained _status quo_.

Like a pulse of electricity, the memory of her lips on his cheek flashed into his head, and he gave a sharp intake of breath.

Maybe one drink would be okay.

He’d just reached out for another painkiller instead when the knock came. He frowned, his gaze flicking to the clock on the mantle. It was late, and he wasn’t supposed to be working tomorrow. Whoever it was could leave a message. Whatever it was could wait until tomorrow. Whoever it was could fuck _right_ off and leave him to-

The knock came again.

The thing was, curiosity had always been a weakness of his, and he wasn’t in any position to be avoiding those little weaknesses right now, not when he was denied alcohol. So he swallowed the painkillers dry and went to the door.

***

She could feel her stomach flipping, her muscles tense, as she waited. She’d knock once more, she decided, and then … and then …

A flash of frustration flared within. She’d steeled herself to come here, the very least he could do was open his damn-

And suddenly there he was. Unshaven, rumpled, and, because she was sure he’d checked the peephole before he’d opened the door, wearing a controlled expression, one she recognised. He was projecting neutrality, a determinedly blank canvas … but his eyes weren’t quite up to the task: he was nervous. She was making him nervous.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, “I should have called …” The impulsiveness of her decision seemed ridiculous now. He was suffering from multiple injuries, and here she had come to make him uncomfortable in his own home.

“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. She saw him swallow thickly, but his mask remained in place. He tilted his head. “Did you need something?”

An answer flickered through her mind, and she felt her nerves jolt as she stopped herself from verbalising it. This is Barba, she told herself. You can talk to Barba. You can.

Yes, you can.

“Liv?” He was looking at her with a slight upturn of his mouth, his eyes searching hers with concern.

The urge to flee rose within her, but she wrestled it back. There were things that needed to be said, however awkward, if their friendship was going to last the week. And whatever else happened, she was determined that it would.

“Can I come in?” she asked finally. She saw a flicker of hesitation, but he stood back to allow her past the threshold.

The apartment was warm, and there was something about it that felt immediately comforting to her. Maybe it was just the fact that it was so quintessentially, so recognisably _him_. She let him take her coat and stepped into the living room.

She had been here before, but not for any real length of time, and just once, when she had been dropping off papers for the next day at work. He had offered her a drink, she remembered, but something – Noah, probably – had required her presence elsewhere, and so she had declined. Now she couldn’t stop cataloging it all in her mind: the leather chesterfield, the bookcases, the fireplace – of _course_ he had a fireplace, she thought, with a fond smile.

“Is everything all right?”

He stepped around to face her, and she kept on cataloging: he’d changed clothes, naturally enough, and was dressed more casually than she thought she’d ever seen him. A thin cashmere sweater and jeans. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Bare feet … Too late she realised she was staring, and lifted her head to face him. He was still watching her with concern and confusion, but his expression was still guarded. Her heart twisted a little. She didn’t want him guarded around her.

“I just wanted to … check that you were okay,” she managed. “I didn’t get a chance at the hospital. They said you had a concussion?”

“A _slight_ concussion,” he corrected, smiling a little. “Nothing to worry about, they said.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Part of the reason she had needed to see him was to satisfy herself with her own eyes that he was all right, and here he was, standing before her, the Rafael she knew, looking just as nervous as her.

“That’s good,” she breathed, smiling at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “You came all the way here to double-check the doctors?” he teased gently.

A corner of her mouth twitched. He was all bluff, she thought. His poker face was a good one, but she could see enough to know that he knew exactly why she was here. And, she realised with a jolt, he was _afraid_.

“I came all the way here because …” she faltered, regrouped, looked him in the eye. “Because I think we should talk about it.”

Bit by bit she watched his façade waver: his nostrils flared, he swallowed, the skin around his eyes twitched … but in the green she saw a flash of something … something that she had seen back in the warehouse …

All this time his eyes had not left hers. Wordlessly, he nodded, and inclined his head towards the couch. They walked over and sat down. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. He wasn’t looking at her now. Clearly, it was up to her to start talking. But how on earth did one do that?

She took a deep breath and barrelled forwards.

“It’s entirely possible that I’ve misunderstood things, but I feel like …” Oh god, this was torturous. “Like there was a moment back there when, uh …” The words just trailed off into the silence, and try a she might she couldn’t think of a single one to follow up with. She felt her face grow warm, wondered if they would just sit there forever, the two of them, frozen in an inability to speak about this enormous, nebulous, ambiguity between them. Future archaeologists would find them here, petrified in front of the fire –

“There was.”

A huge breath shuddered through her as for a fleeting moment she felt the tension release her from its grip. Her eyes closed with the relief that he had provided, and when she opened them again he was looking at her with those green eyes, quick and deep and unceasingly perceptive.

“You want to tell me about it?” she said softly.

She watched the corner of his mouth quirk upwards in a faint smile. “I wish I knew how to start.”

She couldn’t help smiling back. “Rafa, are you telling me you’re speechless?” she teased gently.

His smile deepened as he kept his eyes on hers. “It doesn’t happen often, I’ll grant you that.” But then he frowned slightly, and looked away. “Liv, I … I didn’t mean to make you feel …” she watched him falter as he searched for the right word, “… awkward, I …” He scrunched up his nose in frustration.

Olivia couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe normally anymore. “What did you mean?” she asked, and her voice sounded small and tremulous in the quiet. He looked up at her sharply, brown furrowed in confusion. Suddenly she couldn’t sit here any longer, could no longer bear the heaviness of the atmosphere between them; she stood abruptly, as if the air above them would be less charged.

“Rafael, you had a concussion,” she said, beginning to pace, “you know, you were probably not yourself, and I–”

He rose quickly to his feet and stood before her, solid and steady in her path, his expression almost angry. “You think I didn’t _mean_ it?”

She felt heat rush to her face. He was a foot or two away from her, but it felt too close. Feeding off his energy, she felt the frustration rise to the fore, encouraged it, even because with it came a sort of strength. “Is that such a wild leap to take?” she exclaimed. “What else am I supposed to think? I don’t know, because you’re putting up walls so fast that I can’t tell _what_ you’re thinking anymore.” She threw up her hands with a mirthless laugh. “Christ, Rafa, neither of us can even say what we’re talking about!”

A flash of anger passed across his face, and she saw his jaw clench, his eyes blaze at her. She met his gaze, refusing to back down, and the moment hung between them. Then … it shifted, and he closed his eyes. She wondered if he was counting to ten.

But when he looked at her again his anger was gone, and he was her friend, her Rafa, again.

“You’re right,” he said.

Olivia’s mouth fell open. She blinked. Numbly, she saw him draw in a deep breath and let it go, saw his hands clench into fists, saw a look in his eyes that felt recently familiar: it was warm, and earnest, and … and …

“Of _course_ I meant it, Liv,” he whispered.

Her stomach swooped, and something thrilled through her whole body. Her head felt foggy, but she fought against it: instinctively, she didn’t want to miss a word that he was saying.

“You of all people know that words are something of a speciality of mine,” he said, a ghost of a smile about his lips. “But when it comes to how I feel about you, I …”

There was that swooping sensation again.

“Liv the last thing I wanted … the last thing I _want_ is to make you uncomfortable.” His green eyes were searching hers, his face creased with concern. He took a step towards her. “Your friendship means more to me than you could ever know, but …”

“But?” she echoed, her voice choked. He was standing so close now. She could feel the heat radiating off him.

He watched her for a moment, and she saw amusement in his eyes. “You’re going to make me spell it out for you?” he murmured, and she actually felt her body sway towards him, leaning towards his words, his warmth, the smell of his cologne, him …

“Rafa …” the word seemed dragged from her throat without intention. Dimly, she saw his mouth quirk into a smile again, but her eyes were slipping shut as she felt his breath on her skin. She felt her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as he ghosted his lips over hers.

“_Liv_ …” he breathed, and then his mouth was on hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had quite a break from writing, for various reasons, but I came back and saw these lovely comments. What I could I do but respond with the above? I hope you like it.


	3. Of small gestures and heartfelt confessions

There was a real possibility that he would never catch his breath again.

Rafael reached up for her cheek, buried his fingers in her hair – god, he’d wanted to do that for so long. He felt her open her mouth to him, and when his tongue collided with hers he heard her whimper, and he thought his knees were going to give way. He reached out with his other hand for her waist, steadying himself and pulling her closer – he needed to feel her against him, needed to know he wasn’t imagining it.

But she was real, she was here, and warm under his touch. The taste of her was exhilarating, and so intimate that he couldn’t think how he’d ever get enough of it. Her hands were gripping his biceps, and his muscles tensed under her touch. This was Olivia – _his_ Liv – and there was no more doubt: she wanted him. Her hands slid from his arms to his chest, tightening into fists as she gripped the soft material of his sweater. He breathed in sharply through his nose, and finally their lips parted. He leaned his forehead against hers, brushing his nose along hers.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Liv, I adore you,” he murmured, and it had been so long in coming he could hear his voice crack.

She let out a breathless sound that was part laugh, part choked-back sob; with one palm resting above his heart, she slid the other to his neck, her thumb brushing his jawline. She leaned hard against him for a moment before tipping up her chin to kiss him, and he responded eagerly. He circled his hand around her waist, drawing her against him.

As she reached to slide her hand across his shoulder blade her sweater lifted and his thumb was suddenly resting against her bare skin. She gasped against his mouth and they broke apart. He looked up into her face, saw her heavy-lidded eyes dark with desire, and felt a wave of heat rush through his whole body. Something had shifted; the air had taken on that electric quality he remembered from the warehouse. Only this time his hands were free to touch her, and there were no barriers, no imminent interruptions. Fixing her gaze with his, he tried to slow his breathing.

“When do you have to …”

Swallowing hard, she shook her head, her fingertips resting on his jaw near the corner of his mouth. “Lucy is staying over. I just have to get back in time for breakfast …”

Green fire flared in his eyes, and she felt an answering flare deep within. No one had ever looked at her quite like _that_.

He reached up and hooked her hair behind her ear, his fingers sliding down the lock to rub between his thumb and forefinger. Holding her gaze, he murmured, “Come with me?”

That flare again, lower down this time. She nodded, and he reached for her hand, his fingers lacing with hers before he turned and led her down the hall. At the doorway to his bedroom he stopped, and she leaned back against the frame. Resting a hand on the wall beside her head, he leaned in, his body an inch or two from hers, and looked at her. She recognised his question, and she reached up to slide a hand around his neck; she nodded again. His mouth quirked into a faint smile, and he closed the distance between them to kiss her, slowly.

Next thing Olivia knew she was on her back on his bed, and he was above her, kissing her like it was all he ever wanted to do. She reached for the hem of his sweater and slid her hands underneath it, resting on his abdomen. She heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled against his mouth. Her hands trailed upwards, and she felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. She dragged the material upwards, and he broke the kiss reluctantly to allow her to pull it over his head. In the dim light she let her eyes drift over his body, taking in the tone of his arms, the firmness of him. She met his gaze again: he was watching her, gauging her reaction. She reached up for the gold crucifix that dangled from his neck above her, hooked her index finger in the chain, and gently pulled him down to her lips again.

He turned his head to her neck, and ran his tongue along the skin below her jaw, fulfilling a secret promise to himself. He heard her moan softly and smiled, thrilled with the evidence of how he made her feel. He moved downwards, to her waist, and lifted up her bulky wool sweater to reveal a line of bare skin.

_Jesus_.

He swallowed, and lowered his mouth to her stomach, dragging his lips slowly against her skin. Her hand found the back of his head and her fingers buried themselves in his hair, and he gave an involuntary growl. He heard her laugh and smiled. He began to move slowly upwards, inching her sweater up her torso as he cleared the way for his mouth. When he reached her bra he brought his free hand to bear upon her skin, his thumb brushing the base of her breast. She arched towards him, and he continued upwards, his lips tracing a trail of slow kisses between her breasts to her throat. She arched again, and raised her hands above her head – he acquiesced and pulled her sweater up and over.

He hovered above her, his hands going to her stomach and sliding slowly up her skin, his thumbs caressing each scar and sending shivers along her body. His eyes met hers again and he bent to kiss her. She sucked in a breath as he palmed her breast, surprised at the force of her reaction to this. She couldn’t remember feeling this turned on so early in the process … but then this was _Rafa_, and everything was already so different with him. Her knee bent, almost of its own accord, and slid up his leg, pressing him closer. And she could feel his arousal now, unmistakably hard against her inner thigh. 

“Rafa …” she whispered, and he raised his head to look at her. He understood immediately, and, holding her gaze, he began to undo her trousers and slide them down.

_Christ, he was sexy._

He moved methodically, and when she lay almost naked before him he actually felt slightly dizzy. Kneeling on the floor between her legs he pulled her to him and began to touch her, making careful note of her reactions, guiding her towards climax. When at last she threw her head back and let out a guttural cry as she arched towards him, he thought he might be done for.

Olivia gripped the quilt beneath her in white-knuckled fists as she tumbled back down from the heights. Through heavy lidded eyes she saw him climb back onto the bed next to her, his hand resting on her stomach as he watched her.

“You’d better not be done,” she murmured, and his face creased with amusement.

“Joking at a time like this,” he said, but she could see he was breathing hard. Pushing herself up off the mattress, she reached with renewed determination for the buttons of his jeans, and he leaned back to allow her access, fighting for control of his senses. Her movements were borne by desire rather than finesse, and he chuckled as she tugged them off him. Fixing his gaze with a knowing smile, though, she knew he wasn’t as collected as he’d like her to think.

As she removed his boxers and closed her hand around him, he had to admit she was right; he was utterly at her mercy. His gaze flickered up to watch her face, and he swallowed hard. She smirked a little.

“Feeling quippy?”

He bit back a groan. “Not right at the moment, no.”

Soon it became necessary to stop her, and he reached out for her wrist. She looked up at him with those eyes of hers, and he sat up and pulled her close to kiss her again before rolling her somewhat roughly onto her back. She let out a breathless laugh; he stopped it with his mouth on hers.

They moved together as if in a kind of dance, slowly, learning from and trading off against each other, taking their turn to lead, to explore, trusting the other with their own vulnerabilities, with the things they didn’t show to other people. They rose and fell together, savouring each touch, each wave of feeling.

At length her hips were rolling up into his, telling him to speed things along, and he couldn’t refuse a summons like that. As he watched her expression he felt tremor after tremor go through him, fighting it back each time.

“Rafa, please …”

No need to ask him twice.

With his lips on her throat, she moaned his name into his ear, and he followed soon after.

The waves broke. She felt it in every inch of her body. His muscles shook as it swept through him.

It was a long, long time before they felt able to speak again.

*

She returned from the ensuite to find the bed empty, and she settled between the sheets to wait. Soon enough he walked in carrying two glasses of water, and handed her one. She took it gratefully, and drank it down as he climbed in beside her. While he followed suit she placed her glass on the bedside table and lay down on her back.

“You should do some stretches,” she said as she stifled a yawn

The look on his face was a picture.

“Excuse me?” he said, barking out a laugh, pure amusement dancing in his eyes.

She felt her face flush. _Really, Olivia. _she admonished herself. _It’s a bit late to be embarrassed._

“I meant your shoulders. So they don’t get –” she really tried not to hesitate, but somehow it happened anyway “– stiff.”

This time he actually choked on a mouthful of water, and turned to deposit his glass on the nightstand before he dropped it. She couldn’t help laughing too, and he was still chuckling when he lay beside her and reached to remove her hands where they covered her face in mortification.

“It’s ok,” he said, still smirking. “I got the stretching lecture from the doctors. And a handy pamphlet.”

“Did they use the phrase ‘at your age’?”

“At least twice,” he said, and she laughed again, rubbing her forehead and letting out a deep breath. She turned her head to look at him, and rolling onto her side she reached out and lightly touched her fingertips to the butterfly bandage near his hairline. “How's your head?”

His eyes crinkled with warmth. “No pain. Best meds available. Completely off my head right now.”

Laughing, Olivia rolled into him, burying her face in his shoulder. She felt his arms wrap around her, and for a moment they stayed like that, enjoying the freedom of finally being in each other's orbit. His hands drifted in slow circles over her skin; she nuzzled into his chest and breathed him in, letting their heartbeats align.

“Rafa?”

“Hmm?”

She hesitated, not wanting any misunderstandings. “I know that we have a lot to talk about, and … and what happens next, and everything. But … do you mind if we just … table it for a little while? Just for tonight?” She lifted her head to look at him, and he brushed her hair away from her face.

“Of course,” he replied softly.

She closed her eyes as his fingertips caressed her cheek, humming with contentment. She should have known. Whatever they had ever been to each other, he always seemed able to read her intentions. “I don’t want to think about anything else just yet …”

He smiled. He was in no hurry to burst this particular bubble either. “Me neither,” he said. “I’m having enough trouble getting my head around what’s happening right now.”

She opened her eyes and rewarded him with a wide smile. “About time, don’t you think?”

It was _completely_ unreasonable for a person to be that damn sexy, he thought, opening his mouth to answer and shutting it again when it became clear none was forthcoming.

“That’s the second time tonight I’ve seen you speechless,” she teased, grinning as she watched him.

“Seems you have that effect on me,” he murmured, happy to be teased, happy to see her smile, especially like _that_, especially at _him_. He leaned in to nuzzle his nose against hers, brushing her lips with his and drawing a sigh from her mouth. “Christ, Liv …”

“I know,” she whispered. And he was certain now that she did know, that she understood the ache of longing, of suppressing thoughts and feelings they weren’t supposed to be thinking or feeling. And now, the sublime aftershocks of having finally given in.

She closed her eyes as he placed soft kisses on her cheeks in slow, rhythmic movements, and she felt herself relaxing further. “I could fall asleep right here,” she muttered.

“You want to stay?”

She looked up again, met his gaze, and nodded. She watched his eyes light up, and the next second he had released her and rolled away; he was back moments later with a small alarm clock.

“My phone is somewhere in the living room,” he explained, raising his eyebrow at her with a smirk. “What time do you need to get up?”

“About five am? Just so I have time to make breakfast and drop off Noah-”

“No problem.” He fiddled with the mechanism for a bit before rolling back to place it on the nightstand. Task completed, he settled back on the bed, enveloping her once more in his arms and breathing a deep breath.

“Thank you,” she said, and moved closer to kiss him. After a moment or two he pulled back to look at her; he paused for a moment, hesitant.

“Can I … I don’t know what you have planned for tomorrow, but … after you’ve dropped Noah at school, if you’re not busy … can I see you? Later?”

She was finding all of this oddly touching. She reached up to brush her fingers lightly along his hairline.

“Will you come over to my place? Anytime after ten?”

His eyes filled with that warm earnestness she had seen earlier – she had seen this expression on him before, but never quite this unguarded, never quite this warm and openly full of feeling: and unequivocally for _her_.

She closed her eyes and leaned in to rest her forehead against his.

“Goodnight, Liv,” he murmured.

Olivia knew her heart had grown cautious. Over the years she had learned to be careful with it. But right then, with her body still thrumming from his touch, with the quiet of the darkness settling around them, amid the echoes of small gestures and heartfelt confessions, she felt for just a moment the full force of how much she loved him.

She tipped up her chin to kiss him one last time, unhurried and soft. “Goodnight, Rafa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now. Hope everyone is doing well. A sincere thank you to all of those who left kudos and comments. I SO appreciate it.  
The world needs a little love and escapism now, I think, so hopefully this provided a little of both.


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